


can only tread water for so long

by AVMabs



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Anxiety, Chronic Illness, Claustrophobia, Crying, Heist, Hurt/Comfort, Missions Gone Wrong, Other, Panic Attacks, Trans Peter Nureyev, not a tag but angst and COMFORT, there is just. SO much crying in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29578332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVMabs/pseuds/AVMabs
Summary: The final cornerstone of Peter Nureyev's emotional barricade crumbles.  He and Juno deal with the consequences.Featuring other such tragedies as: champagne (wasted), canapés (untouched), and the debtor system on Brahma.
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko & Juno Steel, Buddy Aurinko & Peter Nureyev, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Vespa Ilkay & Juno Steel
Comments: 13
Kudos: 114





	can only tread water for so long

**Author's Note:**

> Please take note of additional content warnings:  
> \- A very brief, non-graphic mention of self-induced vomiting (not related to an eating disorder)  
> \- Fire and smoke-inhalation  
> \- A very, very brief mention of unsafe binding practices

Juno isn’t stupid. He’s pretty adamant about that. He’s not stupid, even if he’s self-centred and moody and sour and a million other things besides. Before the Carte Blanche, he’d made a living on noticing things. Mostly, he’d made that living on noticing when things were off. 

So, yeah, he’s not stupid.

He notices when Rita’s snack consumption halves and follows a lighter trail of crumbs than usual into her self-styled ‘Computer Cave’ to tell her to eat something and get some sleep, that Buddy would mind more if she worked herself into a headache than if she takes another hour hacking into security. He might call her an idiot a couple of times, too. He should work on that. Anyway, he notices that, and he notices when Jet’s hands start to shake after the whole mess with M’tendere and – yeah – he’s out of his depth with that one, so he just elbows Buddy in the ribs until _she_ notices and deals with the Big Guy. He’s learned Vespa’s tells, learned what it means when she closes her eyes and shakes her head and – more than that – he’s learned to listen closely when she does that in case whatever she’s trying to block out is real. He knows that when Buddy cracks open a bottle of champagne without occasion, it’s time to nudge Vespa or Jet in her direction and retreat into his room or Nureyev’s room for the rest of the night. 

He notices a lot, but he’s still human. It’s not on him if he misses stuff, sometimes. He doesn’t have to feel _guilty_ just because he didn’t notice Nureyev’s… He doesn’t have to feel guilty. He’s spent the last goddamn year working on that, working on synthesising the fact that he’s not responsible for every tiny bad thing that happens around him. It’s not his _job_ to keep an eye on every single one of Nureyev’s idiosyncrasies and figure out which ones are warning signs and which ones go alongside the fact that he keeps sandwiches in his pockets sometimes. 

Okay, yeah, he feels pretty guilty for not noticing this before he ended up in a vault on Venus with a Nureyev who is definitely not okay. Also, he’s stuck in a vault on Venus with a Nureyev who is definitely not okay, and that’s a problem.

*

It starts with a job. It always starts with a job. Even before Nureyev and the Carte Blanche, everything had started with a job. Buddy sits the entire Aurinko Crime Family around the kitchen table, nursing a glass of whiskey, and eyes them all carefully. That’s how Juno knows that there’s going to be a job. Buddy never eyes them all like that when things are normal. Also, just because they have the Curemother Prime doesn’t mean there aren’t still things to do, CEOs to bankrupt, people to help – that kind of thing.

This job, Buddy tells them, is the CEO-bankrupting kind. 

“I won’t bore you all with preamble,” she says as preamble. “I’ve received intel from one of my sources that the CEO of Hydrangea Care Incorporated is planning to buy out a considerable number of failing medical centres in the Outer Rim.” She sighs and takes a sip of her whiskey. “It’s all being done under the guise of philanthropy, of course – these things always are – but we have enough evidence to suggest that Hydrangea Care Inc. will use its newfound ownership of these medical centres to vastly increase the price of medical care in the Outer Rim, and that concerns me.” 

Juno’s eye flicks to Nureyev, whose fingers have tightened around his mug of tea. “Excuse me, Captain?” he says, glancing up at Buddy. Buddy nods, gesturing for him to go ahead. “Might I ask which are the Outer Rim planets in question?”

Buddy’s mechanical eye makes a small clicking noise as she blinks, surprised. “I wasn’t expecting such interest in those kinds of details from you, Pete,” she says. “As far as I’m aware, Balder will be lightly impacted, and Susano-o impacted rather more. Of course, it’s Brahma which will experience the most upheaval – its people are already struggling to get by as is, and if the price of healthcare there rises any further, it isn’t hard to imagine Hydrangea Care Incorporated will use the Debtor system to effectively traffic half the people on the planet.” She pauses. “Does that answer your question, darling?”

Nureyev swallows, lips growing thin. “Yes. Thank you, Captain.” 

“Luckily,” says Buddy, “we are going to stop that from ever happening. The CEO in question will be holding a gala five nights from now to celebrate his ‘charitable ventures’, and likely to announce his plans to buy out these medical centres, which is when we will make our move.”

“So, what’s the plan?” asks Juno. “Some espionage, a little theft, maybe a couple canapés?”

“Take this seriously, Steel,” growls Vespa. “These jobs aren’t some stupid game.” 

“Actually, dearest one, he’s rather close to the mark,” says Buddy. “The only difference is that it will involve a _lot_ of espionage and a _lot_ of theft.” 

“And a lot of canapés?” asks Juno, just because he can.

“ _Steel_ ,” snarls Vespa, raising her fist threateningly. 

“Okay, sorry,” says Juno, holding his hands up. 

“Darling, if we pull this off, you may have as many canapés as you like,” says Buddy, a smile playing on her lips. “You’ll be on the ground for this one – you and Ransom, that is.” 

“Goodness, again?” says Nureyev, though he doesn’t seem all that displeased by the idea. 

“Well, you’re both rather good at this sort of thing, and you both have the sort of skillset we need for this,” explains Buddy. “You needn’t worry too much – I’ve already forged your invitations, and Rita will disable as much of the security system as she can so that you can get through to the vault without any trouble. The real problem is that our CEO keeps the key to the vault on his person at all times.”

“An analogue key _and_ a physical vault?” snorts Juno, raising an eyebrow. “What is this, 2100?”

“Shut up and let her speak,” snaps Vespa. 

“Well, the vault is only physical insofar as you need to be inside of it to access the heart of the security system and get through to the accounts. We’ll need you and Ransom to get inside the vault and disable the technology that necessitates one’s physical presence to access the information so that Rita can start siphoning the money away.” 

Rita looks between Juno and Buddy nervously. “Um, Captain A?” she says.

“What is it, Rita, darling?” asks Buddy.

“I ain’t tryin’ to question your judgement or anythin’, but are you sure Mistah Steel is the right person for this?” She glances over at Juno. Juno waits until she’s done to protest, because he’s spent too much of his life getting into trouble because he interrupted Rita before she was done making a good point, and – you know – he’s learning. “It’s just, the physical firewall system is real sophisticated technology, and it’s real hard to disable it. It’d be way easier if I just went in there myself and siphoned the money away from the computer where they keep the accounts.”

Yeah, okay, that’s a good point.

Vespa raises an eyebrow at Juno. “Not defending yourself, huh?” she says suspiciously.

Juno rolls his eye. “I know a good point when I hear one, okay?” 

Vespa snorts. “Could have fooled me.”

Buddy smiles at Rita, her one organic eye glittering with warmth. “Many of our missions depend upon your anonymity as our hacker, I’m afraid. Should things go well, your comms will be active the whole time, and if they don’t… well, I’m sure Pete will be able to make up for Juno’s… technological deficiencies.”

That one, Juno does take exception to. “ _Hey_ ,” he says, trying and mostly failing not to sound like a petulant kid. 

“You make up for it in other ways, love,” says Nureyev, patting Juno’s hand. And, okay, when Nureyev says things like that, Juno can’t really bring himself to be super mad, so he just makes a show of sulking and listens to Buddy explain the rest of the mission.

*

The thing Juno hates the most about going on missions with Nureyev is that he doesn’t actually see Nureyev in the days beforehand. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice Nureyev’s tells before the mission actually begins, because Nureyev shuts himself away in his room with copies of the schematics – Buddy always makes copies of those, after the mess with the Curemother Prime – and information on their marks, and – in this case – coding manuals and sets upon sets of instructions from Rita. When he gets like that, Juno doesn’t even know if he’s eating or sleeping – probably not sleeping, because Nureyev sleeps in Juno’s bed, most nights, and Juno hasn’t played the role of little spoon in five days.

It worries Juno a little not to know what sort of condition Nureyev’s going to be in when he shows up at the rendezvous point – in this case, the garage of the Carte Blanche. That’s what he thinks to himself as he checks he has his blaster in his purse, and his second blaster in a holster attached to his thigh under his dress, and his third blaster on the other leg. He’s all set, except that Nureyev isn’t here yet.

“Ransom isn’t here yet,” says Juno, just in case Jet had missed the fact that an entire man was missing. 

“We still have one minute and 43 seconds before the agreed rendezvous time,” says Jet. “He will be here.”

“What, you think an entire guy can materialise in two minutes?” says Juno. “I should go and check on him. He’s probably so absorbed in double checking what shoe size this CEO wears that he forgot we need to go.”

“I do not think so,” says Jet. 

“Yeah?” says Juno. “How are you so sure?”

“I can hear him walking down the hall.”

Juno stops talking and listens and – sure enough – there’s the sound of heels against tile, distinguishable from Buddy’s by the slight limp Nureyev has had ever since he broke his leg. “Oh. Yeah, okay.” 

Nureyev appears at the garage door, nervous energy suspended in the air around him like static electricity around exposed wiring. He relaxes slightly when he sees that Jet and Juno are still there. “You must excuse my lateness,” he says. “I’m afraid I had some trouble fastening this corset – lovely though it is – from the back.” 

It doesn’t sound like a lie, at least. Juno stares at the deep indigo corset around Nureyev’s waist, styled over his shirt in place of a waistcoat. “I’ll, uh, help you get it off,” says Juno. “Later, I mean.”

Nureyev grins, sharp teeth glistening brightly in the overhead garage light. “Dear detective,” he says. “I would love nothing more.” 

Jet clears his throat, saving Juno from having to sputter out some kind of equally suave response. “I will remind you that we have a mission. You are Madame and Monsieur de Marcillac, and I am your chauffeur. I will also be functioning as a lookout and as your getaway if anything goes wrong.”

“Right, yes,” says Nureyev, looking suitably contrite. “Thank you, Jet.”

“We must make our way to the gala now. They do not admit late entries.” Jet holds the car door open for them.

“You don’t have to hold the door open for us, Jet,” says Juno, feeling a little bad for the Big Guy. “You’re not officially our chauffeur until we get to the gala.”

Jet clears his throat and adjusts his tie, and Juno notices for the first time that sweat is beading around his hairline. “I am not accustomed to playing roles on jobs, and I am nervous. Buddy told me it is helpful to step into a role beforehand so that you do not forget to play it when it when the time comes.” 

“Fair enough,” says Juno. “Ransom?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly,” says Nureyev. “Ladies first, please.”

Juno rolls his eyes, but steps into the RUBY 7 and shuffles to the far side. Nureyev steps into the car after him and Jet closes the door. 

They arrive on Venus 10 minutes before the gala begins, and it’s immediately clear where it is going to be held. The venue looms above the other Venusian skyscrapers, bright light from its penthouse cutting through the thick evening clouds like a beacon. Drones circle the peak of the tower, but even they are dressed for the occasion, sleek white things whose warning beams are more like spotlights than warnings. The Venusian moon – a projection, obviously – sits at the head of the tower like a crown.

“Damn,” says Juno. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I knew this Hydrangea guy was _rich_ , but I wasn’t expecting the guy to hire out the damn moon for his party.”

“Yes,” says Nureyev. “Lord Hydrangea is apparently prone to rather extravagant shows of wealth. Sources say his mother was a renowned socialite, which may be where some of his flair comes from.”

Juno frowns. “Wait, hold up – _Lord_ Hydrangea? I didn’t know Venus had a feudal system.”

“It doesn’t,” remarks Nureyev. “Our dear Lord Hydrangea changed his name himself when he turned 18.” 

“Oh,” says Juno. “Well, that’s… Something you can name yourself. Lord.” He pauses. “So, uh, if I have to speak to this guy, do I call him Mr. Hydrangea, or – or Mr. Lord Hydrangea, or…?” 

“I believe he prefers to be addressed as ‘My Lord’”, says Nureyev.

Juno squints at Nureyev, trying to find the slightest hint that he might be joking. “You’re serious,” he says flatly. “That’s… wow. Probably should have guessed that the guy who’s trying to traffic half the Outer Rim is also a raging narcissist.” He regrets the words as soon as he says them. Nureyev’s smile vanishes, his jaw tenses, and the same nervous energy from before rushes in to replace the light air he had maintained up until this point. “Ah, crap, Ransom – you know I didn’t mean…”

Nureyev’s smile comes shining back, but it’s too easy. Too fake. “No matter, dear detective. Now, keep your wits about you whilst I inform the Captain of our arrival at Venus.” 

Juno keeps his eye on Nureyev as he tells Buddy that they’re there and promises to keep his comms on throughout the mission. There’s something off about him – a little strained, Juno thinks. But then, this Lord Hydrangea guy is targeting Brahma the most, and when Juno thinks back to how he’d reacted when he’d come home from the Cerberus Province to find Oldtown transformed, he can’t blame Nureyev for being a little tense. 

“Juno?” 

Juno startles out of his thoughts to find Nureyev staring at him. “What? Sorry.”

“Jet’s just pulling into our parking space. We’d best start gathering ourselves.”

Juno glances out of his window. “Wow, even the goddamn garage here is over the top.” He sighs and cracks his neck. “Got your invitation?”

Nureyev pats his pocket. “Yes, love.”

“Good.” He reaches for the door handle, then remembers that Jet is playing chauffeur and stops, feeling awkward. Jet walks around to the car door and holds it open. Juno steps out, one hand on his purse, and nods, stepping into his role uncomfortably. “Thanks, Mr. S.”

Jet nods in return, closes the door, and moves around to let out Nureyev. “Many thanks,” says Nureyev, then offers an arm to Juno. “Shall we, then, dearest?” 

“Uh, yeah,” says Juno, resting his hand in the crook of Nureyev’s elbow. 

The line into the party is a long one. More than that, it’s a long one from which people with fake invites are being singled out and removed. It’s like a queue for one of the nightclubs in uptown Hyperion City. Juno thinks nervously of the fake invite burning a hole in his purse. 

“We’ll be fine, love,” says Nureyev, sensing Juno’s apprehension. “Our parking spot was marked out in the garage, after all.” 

Juno nods, scoping out the people in the line. With all the people being weeded out, it’s moving pretty quickly. A bouncer who doesn’t look much like a bouncer in a tailored suit comes to them next. “Might I see your tickets, please?” he asks.

“Of course,” says Nureyev, fishing his ticket out of his pocket while Juno reaches into his purse, concealing his blaster from view. 

The bouncer looks at them both, narrowing his eyes, and looks down at their tickets. “Madame and Monsieur de Marcillac,” he says slowly, then looks at them harder. 

Juno shifts uncomfortably under the scrutiny, but Nureyev returns the man’s stare evenly until, finally, the bouncer nods. “Go ahead.” 

Something’s off about the way the guy admits them entrance. Hell, Juno thinks something might even be off about the fact that they had a parking space waiting for them in the garage. He wants to tell Nureyev, to get in contact with Buddy and let her know something isn’t right – but Nureyev is tugging on his arm, leading him into the venue, and suddenly they’re being swarmed on all sides by the rich and richer.

No matter how many heists Juno works, he never quite feels like he fits in with the crowd at these events. Nureyev doesn’t have the same problem, clearly. He flashes his fake smile at the waiter by the door and takes two champagne flutes from the tray, handing one to Juno without ever dropping his smile. “One for you, dearest,” he says.

Juno smiles. “Thanks,” he says, then catches the waiter’s eye, too, because the poor guy is probably going to be walking around with trays for the whole night and Juno doesn’t make a habit of being rude to hospitality staff. “Thank you.”

“Yes, very good,” says Nureyev. “Well, dear, shall we mingle? I do believe we should have some time before the speeches begin.” 

“Uh, yeah,” says Juno, looking for some quiet spot to pull Nureyev to the side and express that something in here is off. “So, this Lord Hydrangea guy – any idea where he is?”

“That’s why we’re mingling, my dear Madame de Marcillac,” answers Nureyev. “I’ll know him when I see him, but there really are a great many people here.” 

Juno’s comms fizz to life and – by the look on his face – so do Nureyev’s. “Now, remember,” says Buddy. “You’ll only have an hour and a half before the speeches to find Hydrangea, get into the vault, and siphon the money away, so you’ll need to work quite quickly.”

“Indeed,” says Nureyev, patting Juno’s arm like he’s responding to a remark rather than talking to a Crime Boss through his earpiece.

“Right,” says Juno. “Let’s, uh, let’s go and talk to some people.” 

They scout the ballroom for a while, making small talk with rich people and eating canapés. Or Nureyev makes small talk, and Juno eats canapés. It works out for both of them. Then, halfway through a conversation with another rich guy _about_ another rich guy, Nureyev nudges Juno and nods towards a man dressed in a sharp white suit with – wouldn’t you know it – a hydrangea on his lapel. Juno thinks it’s a shame – hearing this guy talk so much crap about someone else is just about the most interesting conversation he’s had this evening. Also, Hydrangea had bought the expensive stuff for this party, and Juno’s barely had two sips of it.

Still, duty calls. He reaches out to brush some non-existent lint from the corner of Nureyev’s shoulder, edging a little closer to the guy they’re speaking to than necessary. A little tip of his champagne flute as he pretends to pick the lint off Nureyev’s jacket, and then the guy they’re speaking to has a hundred-cred glass of champagne down his shirt. 

He sputters, nostrils flaring, as he regards Juno with a cold, furious look. 

“Oh, dearest!” exclaims Nureyev, in an over-the-top scold. “You really _must_ be more careful!” He turns to the guy. “I really must apologise, Mr. Olivier, my dear Madame is so terribly clumsy, – one of the many things I love about him.”

“Really sorry,” says Juno, and he is kind of sorry. For the guy as much as for the champagne. He waves a hand in the general direction of his eyepatch – a soft, velvet thing with a yellow trim to go with the trim of his dress. “Blind spot.”

“My _shirt_ ,” hisses the guy.

“Goodness, yes, I daresay you’ll want to clean yourself up before the speeches begin – wouldn’t want to go on stage with a stained shirt!” Nureyev chuckles loudly.

The guy blinks, opening and closing his mouth, then turns on heel and strides across the ballroom towards the bathrooms, leaving them free to speak with Lord Hydrangea. 

As they approach, Nureyev leans in, his breath tickling Juno’s ear and the side of his neck. “Excellent work, Juno – many thanks for the opening.”

Juno turns his head, lips catching on Nureyev’s ear. “You owe me a glass of champagne,” he whispers.

Nureyev laughs loudly. “Not until later, my dear Madame!” he exclaims as they approach Hydrangea. He clears his throat, fake smile still stuck on his face and gleaming under the bright white lights of the room. “My Lord,” he says, giving a small bow. “It is the greatest of all honours to meet a man such as yourself.” 

He looks to Juno expectantly. Juno curtseys clumsily, holding up his skirts. “Really great to meet you, my Lord,” he agrees. 

Hydrangea looks between them, brow furrowed. “Forgive my rude manners, but I can’t place you. Who are you?”

“Oh, Madame and Monsieur de Marcillac, my Lord,” says Nureyev. “I’m not surprised you can’t place us – we’re new to the investing scene, though rather successful so far. A distant aunt of my dear wife here died recently and left him a great many millions we never knew she had, so we felt we’d try something new!”

Hydrangea’s lips curl around his teeth without revealing any of them, and he nods slowly. “Madame and Monsieur de Marcillac…” he repeats. “No, I think I _have_ heard of you.”

“My goodness!” exclaims Nureyev. “How wonderful to know we’re beginning to make waves – isn’t that right, my dear Madame?”

“Uh, yeah,” says Juno, eye narrow as he tries to read Hydrangea’s expression. The guy himself feels _off_. He shouldn’t have heard of Madame and Monsieur de Marcillac – it doesn’t make sense. Buddy had been careful to fabricate an investment history everywhere except the medical sector, and this guy is only known for his investments _into_ the medical sector.

Hydrangea returns Juno’s stare, then drops his eyes. “Madame de Marcillac, your hand is empty!” he gasps. 

Juno smirks. “Bit of an accident, my Lord.”

“Well, that won’t do at all,” says Hydrangea, and begins scanning the ballroom until his eyes fall on one of the waiters. There are plenty of waiters closer to them than this one, but Hydrangea wants _him_ specifically. He raises a hand in the air and snaps his fingers, pointing at the waiter and beckoning him over. “You,” he says, no hint of pleasantry in his voice. “Nobody is to walk around this Gala empty-handed. I made that clear.” 

“Oh,” says Juno. “No, it’s really…” Nureyev nudges him in the ribs, and he falls silent.

“Understood, my Lord,” says the waiter evenly. He removes his hand from his pocket and hands Juno a glass from the tray himself, fingers brushing the rim of the glass before settling on the stem. “My apologies, Madame de Marcillac.” Hearing his fake name from a guy who shouldn’t know it sends another thrill of suspicion down Juno’s spine. 

“Thanks,” says Juno, taking the champagne directly from the waiter’s hand. 

“You may go,” says Hydrangea. “Now, I’m interested in the two of you. Tell me, what sort of future investments do you plan to make?”

“Well, perhaps this is rather forward, but we’re very interested in these medical centres you’re planning to renovate,” says Nureyev. “I hear things in the Outer Rim are _just_ terrible, and to have some part in making it a better place would be… well, we’d be doing quite a service, wouldn’t we, dearest?”

“Yeah,” says Juno. “Nothing better than, you know, using your assets to help people.”

“Precisely!” says Nureyev, beaming. “I daresay the Outer Rim will be much better for your input, my Lord.”

“My medical centres, eh?” says Hydrangea. “I knew I liked you.” He fiddles with the hydrangea on his lapel. Juno watches him closely. “Did you know Brahma’s a hellhole? Even New Kinshasa is beginning to see wear and tear, and the people aren’t helping a bit. All those people, and not a one of them is doing a single thing to improve their lot. That’s where Hydrangea Care Incorporated comes in. We buy out these centres, revolutionise the medical care, and let the people who can’t pay upfront work for us to cut their debts. After that, they’ll have a much more reasonable price to pay – with interest, of course. All inspired by Fresh Starts Incorporated!” He grins the whole time he says it, like he’s the smartest man alive, and his eyes keep falling on Nureyev like he knows something which makes the whole thing delicious to him.

Something hot and angry flares in Juno’s stomach, a feeling similar to the one he’d felt when he’d spoken to Mick Mercury in Newtown, but sicker. He spares a glance at Nureyev, whose expression is neutral. “Quite ingenious!” remarks Nureyev. “I daresay you and your investors will see a great deal of profit from this, and you spare expenses by having Outer Rim patients work as a partial payment for their treatment.” 

“Very _good_ , Monsieur de Marcillac,” says Hydrangea, his tone dripping with false praise. “Oh, Madame, you haven’t had even a sip of your champagne,” he prompts. 

“Sorry – such interesting conversation,” says Juno, a slight edge to his voice, and pretends to take a sip. 

Hydrangea fixes his eyes on Juno. “Madame?” he says, something like a threat inching into his tone. 

“Yeah?” says Juno.

“Drink your champagne.” 

Juno brings the glass up to his mouth and takes a tiny, tiny sip, and his eye flicks to Nureyev. He looks back at Hydrangea and takes another sip. He’s a third of the way through the glass before Hydrangea relaxes. Juno removes the glass from his lips anxiously. He doesn’t like that he drank the champagne – and it was _good champagne_ – and he especially doesn’t like that Hydrangea looks satisfied. 

Hydrangea opens his mouth to speak, eyeing them both in a way that says he isn’t done with them yet. Nureyev starts acting weird, then. He sways a little, presses a hand to his forehead, and another to his chest, giving a strange swallow. Juno’s eye falls to the glass of champagne in his hand. Empty. “Honey?” says Juno, trying not to let too much urgency seep into his voice. “Everything okay?”

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry,” says Nureyev, voice strained and faint. “I’m rather afraid one of the canapés might not have agreed with me.” He presses a hand to his mouth. “You’ll have to excuse the rudeness, my Lord, but I cannot continue this conversation at present.” He turns away from Hydrangea and begins to walk haltingly across the ballroom floor. 

Juno spares a fake look of apology for Hydrangea and finally notices a tiny, tiny listening device in the huge flower on the guy’s lapel. Figures. “Sorry, _my Lord_ , but I’d best accompany my husband.” 

“Go, go,” says Hydrangea urgently, eyes wide and baffled as he follows Nureyev.

Juno rests a hand on Nureyev’s back, half-pushing, half-leading him across the floor and into one of the single cubicle bathrooms and – damn – even the bathrooms are fancy, all marble tile with a bowl of tiny, individually wrapped soaps like the ones in hotels by the sink. There’s even a bottle of damn perfume there. Still, Juno doesn’t have time to worry about that as he locks the door, champagne still in hand. “The hell’s going on? Are you okay?”

Nureyev doesn’t answer, bending over the toilet and taking a deep breath like he’s about to vomit. Juno braces a hand on his back and takes a deep breath to tell Buddy to pull them the hell out of there – and then Nureyev straightens up, something pressed between his fingers. He drops it down the toilet and flushes. “There,” he says.

Juno blinks, bewildered. “What the…?”

“Apologies, Juno, but we’re running low on time, and I had to get us out of that conversation as quickly as possible.” 

Juno stares at him, mouth wide open. “What the… why not just pretend to spot someone, or… I dunno, just, why’d you have to scare the hell out of me to get out of this?”

Nureyev sighs and closes his eyes like he’s about to impart some dreadful news. “I’m afraid we need this bathroom, Juno, which is why I’ve rid it of bugs.”

“What? Why do we need the…?” Juno trails off, his eye falling to the half-full champagne glass in his hand. “ _Oh_ ,” he says. 

His comms fizz to life. “Sorry, darling,” says Buddy. “Better safe than sorry, I’m afraid. Hydrangea’s insistence that you drink it was rather concerning. Let’s deal with this quickly, now, and get into that vault. Did you get the key, Pete?”

“Yes, I’ve retrieved the key,” says Nureyev.

Juno squints at him. “ _When_ did you…?”

“Juno, I hate to state the obvious, but time is rather of the essence here,” interrupts Buddy. 

Sighing, Juno kneels in front of the toilet and braces himself. “Might wanna… silence your comms, or something,” he says, a mite self-consciously.

“Juno?” says Buddy. 

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and get it over with, darling.”

Juno takes a deep breath, scrunches his eye closed, and sticks his fingers down his throat. This, he thinks, is one of the single worst parties he’s ever attended. Fourth worst, he’d say. Mick Mercury’s 14th birthday was the worst, and then the whole thing with Ingrid Lake and Valles Vicky, and then there was Mick Mercury’s _21 st _birthday, and all of those were worse than this. Still, kneeling in a fancy bathroom in a fancy dress with Peter Nureyev patting his back as he pukes up canapés and poisoned champagne while the clock ticks on whether the people of Brahma get exploited by a rich guy looking to make another billion quick creds definitely makes this a solid contender for fourth place. 

Finally, he wobbles to his feet and flushes, then turns to the sink without looking at Nureyev. 

“All done?” asks Nureyev softly. 

“Yeah,” says Juno, then rinses his mouth out.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, now, was it, darling?” says Buddy through the comms.

Juno huffs defiantly. “No, it was pretty terrible, actually.” He sighs and splashes his face with water. “How long do we have to get into this stupid vault?”

“40 minutes, darling, but I’d be wary – it seems Hydrangea’s onto you,” answers Buddy.

“Oh, _really_?” Juno bites back sarcastically. “I would never have guessed.”

“There, there, Juno,” says Nureyev. “Let’s just get into the vault, hm?” 

That’s when Juno notices for the first time that Nureyev is _nervous_. He’s been nervous before, obviously, but this feels… different, like there’s something else. “Of course,” he says, pouring the rest of the champagne down the sink and following Nureyev out of the bathroom. 

“So,” says Juno, pitching his voice a little lower. “Know where we’re going?”

Nureyev strides ahead for a moment until he reaches an unassuming door just ahead of them. “This should lead to the vault, if I’ve read the schematics correctly.” He’s been less sure of that kind of thing ever since reading them upside down had nearly killed Jet. “Just a moment, love. Buddy, has Rita successfully disabled the security system?”

“You bet, Mistah Ransom!” says Rita, making both Juno and Nureyev flinch. “You’re all good to go!”

“Rita, darling, some warning before you patch yourself into our private comms calls,” says Buddy. “I nearly spilled my scotch.”

“Oops, sorry, Captain A!” says Rita.

“No harm done. Stay on the line, if you would, darling, we’ll be needing your expertise in a moment,” says Buddy. “Juno, Pete, please go ahead – carefully. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that there is something wrong here.”

The door leads to a long, winding hallway – more industrial than the rest of the building and not in the slightest bit made up for the party. Several security drones hang in the air, like they’ve paused to take a nap. In contrast to the chandeliers in the hall, this place has strip lights installed along the ceiling in too-large intervals that leave them in shadow one moment and fluorescent halogen shine the next.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” mutters Juno.

“This is the security corridor, Juno,” says Nureyev. “It isn’t supposed to be welcoming.”

Juno isn’t backing down. “Don’t you think it’s weird, though?” he asks. “I mean, why would Hydrangea throw a party in the same place he keeps the computer with all his assets on it? Surely, it’d be better to – I don’t know, throw the party someplace else?”

“As I understand it, Lord Hydrangea is planning to make a big show of his transactions here tonight,” answers Nureyev. “He needs to be in the same place as his assets to do so.” 

It’s then that Juno realises something. “Wait, so if we don’t get this done in time…?”

“Yes, darling, Hydrangea will find you both in there and likely kill you, so let’s get this done and get out quickly, hm?” says Buddy.

“Oh, good,” snipes Juno. “So, the pressure is just our lives and _millions of people on the Outer Rim_. Good.”

“Juno?” says Nureyev impatiently. 

“Yeah, what is it?”

“We’re approaching the door to the vault, love.” Juno catches the glint of a knife’s edge pressed against Nureyev’s wrist. “Perhaps you ought to have your blaster at the ready.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” grouses Juno and opens his purse.

“I’ll go ahead and check the room for traps,” whispers Nureyev. “Please stay on the lookout until I give you the all-clear.” 

“Rita’s already deactivated the security, Ransom, and we’re kind of under a lot of time pressure here,” he points out. 

“Still,” says Nureyev with forced levity, “we’ll have one security system to contend with once we start deactivating the heart of this thing – I’d rather make sure we’re clear of any surprises beforehand.” 

Juno sighs and braces his hands against his blaster. “Alright, just be quick.” 

Nureyev is quick – extremely quick, in fact. He pokes his head outside. “All clear. Thank you, Juno.” 

“Right.” Juno lowers his blaster, follows Nureyev into the room, and closes the door behind him. They don’t lock it from the inside – too much time fumbling if they need a quick escape.

Everything is fine for the first half a minute. The vault is a little small, Juno thinks. There’s plenty of room to walk around in, but Nureyev’s head nearly brushes against the ceiling and it’s the sort of place that would never smell the same if someone ate a hot lunch in it. There are 30 surveillance screens on the far wall, each of them displaying static, thanks to Rita. The computer itself looks pretty much like a normal computer – a few feet in front of the surveillance screens, with a wide monitor and a big box with a bunch of buttons Juno doesn’t know the first thing about. 

“Right, well, I’ll just turn this on, then,” says Nureyev, then leans over and presses a button.

A ring of blue light shines from around the power button, and the computer system begins to whir to life. The monitor screen turns from black to a light grey, and then the logo for some operating system Juno’s never heard of shows up. A little white rectangle shows up inside a large black rectangle, then another.

“How long does it take this thing to boot up?” complains Juno. “I thought this was supposed to be a high-tech security system.”

“You ain’t in yet?” asks Rita. “That’s weird. Hey, Mistah Ransom, which button didja press?”

“The power button,” says Nureyev. He stares at the button he just pressed, blue light reflecting off his glasses. “Or something which looks very much like a power button.” 

“Uh oh,” says Rita. 

Juno’s hackles rise. He brings his blaster up with them. “Care to let us in on what the hell’s going on?” he spits down the comms. 

“I appear to have pressed the wrong button,” says Nureyev, eyes wide. “I was so sure it was supposed to be the left. I must have read those instructions ten times.” 

Juno squints at the box. To the right of the button Nureyev had pressed, there’s an identical, inactive button. “So…?”

“It’s the right button, Mistah Ransom,” squeaks Rita.

Nureyev’s face turns a shade paler. “Ah,” he says.

“Well, that’s not so bad,” says Juno. “We can just turn this off and turn the right one on, right?”

“Um,” says Rita. “It don’t really work like that, Mistah Steel. You’re just gonna have to work around the antivirus software. And hardware.”

“Antivirus,” repeats Juno. “That’s… great.”

“The good news,” says Nureyev, voice a touch higher than usual, “is that I’ve just pressed the correct button.”

“And the bad?” says Juno, clutching his blaster.

“The antivirus programme has almost finished loading.” 

Juno glances at the screen to see the final block appear at the end of the big rectangle. The lights in the vault turn red. 

“Um,” says Juno. 

“Virus detected,” says a robotic voice. “Analysis complete. Raising firewall now.” 

“Firewall?” repeats Juno, holding his breath. Several columns of flame shoot up across the wall on the opposite side of the room, blocking off their escape. “ _Oh_!” he shouts. “It’s an actual wall of fire!” 

“You just gotta work around it, Mistah Steel!” says Rita. “Once you got access to the main system, I can hack the security in here too!”

“And in the meantime?” demands Juno.

“Keep us alive, love, and I’ll deal with the computer,” says Nureyev urgently, his glasses already fogging up as he pulls his jacket over his nose and mouth. “I got us into this mess, I’ll get us out of it.” 

“Get us out of it,” repeats the robotic voice. “Systems suggest an escape will not be possible. Please step away from the computer.” 

“Or _what_?” snorts Juno around a cough. “You’ll distract us to death?” 

“That is not a function of our system,” says the voice. “However, we can do this.” Two more walls of flame shoot up across the walls adjacent to the first firewall. “Please turn off the computer.” 

“Sorry, no can do,” says Juno.

“Answer processed. Increase offensive measures.” The columns of flame thicken, as does the smoke. It takes Juno a moment to realise the flames are thickening inwards towards them, a slow threat to them to stop working on the security system.

Juno glances at Nureyev, whose hands are shaking, his face pale. “Ransom?” he asks. “Everything okay?”

“Just have to disable the security system,” he mutters. “Following instructions, all quite simple. I’ll just… yes, yes, I’ll simply… disable. The system.” He coughs into his jacket, then takes it off, discarding it inside-out over the back of his seat. “Hot in here.” 

“That’d be the firewall,” says Juno.

Nureyev makes a strange, strangled noise. “I’m afraid I’m… having some trouble… breathing.” 

Juno frowns. The smoke is thick, but it’s not that thick. “Ransom,” he says. 

Nureyev gulps in a mouthful of smoky air, then coughs it back out frantically. “I… Juno, you…” He’s shaking so hard he can barely touch the right keys. “Juno, I…”

Looking Nureyev up and down, Juno makes an executive decision, and not one he likes. “Rita,” he says. “Walk me through the security system.” 

“Wasn’t Mistah Ransom doing it? What’s happenin’, boss?”

“Now, Rita!” snaps Juno, and immediately feels bad. “Listen, we have a wall of fire coming in closer and closer by the minute, and something’s wrong with Ransom, so I need you to work with me.” 

“Oh, okay, Mistah Steel!” says Rita, and launches into her instructions. 

Disabling the thing is complicated, and the thickening smoke doesn’t help matters. As Juno follows Rita’s third instruction, he thinks to himself that this party has officially beaten out Mick Mercury’s 21st birthday for third place in his ranking of worst parties ever. He attempts to verbalise this, then chokes on a lungful of smoke. 

It only takes four minutes, with Rita torpedoing instructions down the comms at him, but it feels a hell of a lot longer. 

“That’s perfect, Mistah Steel!” says Rita. “I think Mistah Ransom did most ‘a the hard part, but you sure did a good job pressin’ the right buttons, an’ now I can see what I’m workin’ with, so just sit tight, okay?”

Sit tight. Juno would laugh if he thought his lungs could handle it. Instead, he follows standard fire safety advice and crouches low to the ground, next to Nureyev, who’s sitting with his back pressed against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. “Rita’s got this covered,” he wheezes. “Just a little longer.”

Nureyev doesn’t respond – doesn’t even look at him – and Juno fears for a second that he’s passed out until his shoulders quake with another round of coughs. 

“Come on, Rita,” whispers Juno, not loudly enough for Rita to pick up through the comms.

Maybe she hears him anyway, because the fire disappears, and then there’s the sound of something heavy and metal being pulled back, and the smoke begins to clear too. “I opened the vents, too, Mistah Steel, to get some of that smoke outta there.”

“Thanks, Rita,” wheezes Juno. “Hear that, Ransom?” 

Nureyev lifts his head from his knees to stare at Juno. His eyes are wide and overbright, lower lip quivering, sweat seeping through his shirt until it sticks to his back, translucent. He looks like Benten used to look when things got bad, when he had so much to do at school and then at dance rehearsal with next to no reward and got to go home to Sarah Steel at the end of it all. Everything clicks into place – Nureyev’s nervous energy, his mistakes – they start to make sense. 

This has been building for a long, long time, and Juno never even noticed it. “Buddy? How long until we can get out of here?”

“That’s the next bit of bad luck, darling. Jet’s just seen Hydrangea open the door to the vault through the penthouse window. He’s on his way, but he won’t get to you in time to stop Hydrangea. You’re going to have to stall until Rita gets into the assets.” Buddy sounds grave as she says it, like she knows that something is very, very wrong. 

Juno sighs and clicks his teeth. “Alright, yeah,” he says. “We’ll just… deal with that.” Nureyev makes a strangled noise next to him which Juno tries not to remember from their time with Miasma. He’d like nothing more than to take Nureyev outside for some fresh air, but that isn’t an option, so he does the next best thing. 

He picks up his blaster from the floor next to him, sets it to stun, and staggers to the door to stand guard. Waiting for Hydrangea to show up is the worst. Juno thinks he’d prefer it if the guy had just bust the door down without any warning. Instead, Juno has to wait with Nureyev falling apart behind him until the guy makes it down the damn hallway.

Honestly, it’s pretty much a relief when Hydrangea finally opens the door. The way the guy wrinkles his nose and looks Juno up and down when he walks in, mouth half open, is pretty great too. The six lackeys he brings with him? Not so great.

“Madame de Marcillac,” says Hydrangea. “You should be dead by now.”

“Oh, you mean the champagne?” says Juno. “Yeah, didn’t really take. Tasted like crap on the way back up, though.” 

Hydrangea scoffs and shakes his head. “You’re not my primary concern.” His eyes fall on Ransom. “He, on the other hand…” His lips curl. “Surround him,” he orders. 

Five lackeys circle around Nureyev, guns trained on his head. A sixth points her gun at Juno. Juno smirks and raises an eyebrow. He might even wink if he still had two eyes.

“Good. Now, both of you, drop your weapons.” says Hydrangea. “If the Brahman moves to stop me, shoot him. Don’t kill him, though. I’d rather like to collect on this one.” He stretches and cracks his neck. “Now, let’s see about this transfer.” He crosses to his computer.

Juno’s breath catches in his throat as he turns on his blaster’s safety setting and drops it on the ground. Hydrangea will kill Juno anyway, and probably Nureyev once he’s “collected” – whatever that means – but as soon as he gets to that computer, it’s not just their lives at stake. “Hey, Hydrangea?” he asks.

“Shut up,” says Hydrangea. “I have no time for you.”

“No, no, I get that much,” says Juno. “It’s just, I wanted to know how you knew to poison me.”

Hydrangea snorts. “Oh, please. Buddy Aurinko’s informants aren’t all loyal. The right amount of money, the right pressure on their throats, they’ll tell you anything.” His lips curl around his teeth. He presses a couple of buttons and begins to tap out some passwords. “Your Brahman has been on our radar for some time now.” His smile broadens, his top lip pulling taut until a glint of his white, white teeth show from underneath. “I’ve done some reading, you see.”

“First time?” asks Juno, earning him a jab in the chest with the butt of a lackey’s gun. “Ow, geez, take a joke.”

Hydrangea clears his throat. “I must say, it really is wonderful to make this transaction in front of a man who will soon be working for _me_.” He taps on his keyboard a few more times.

“What?” says Juno. “What do you mean, working for you?”

“Juno,” breathes Nureyev, voice strained and pulled taut. “This isn’t… I didn’t want…”

“Too late now,” says Hydrangea. “All I have to do is log in, and your… _thief_ … will be mine within the next five minutes.” 

He presses a button. The screen turns white for a second, loading the page – and then the accounts appear on the screen. All the money, still there. Juno’s heart sinks. He should have been a second faster – could have thrown the champagne in Hydrangea’s face and saved the five minutes of getting it out of his system. It doesn’t matter now. He’s a dead man, and Nureyev is…

Juno doesn’t know. He has no goddamn idea what’s going on here, and he doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like any of this – not the faint, acrid taste of his own sick still cloying at the back of his throat, not the way his chest aches with smoke, not the gun trained at his head, and especially not the fact that Nureyev is falling to pieces three feet away from him and he can’t do a damn thing about it. 

“What,” utters Hydrangea.

Juno looks back at the screen. He grins. Rita came through after all. The accounts are depleting right in front of Hydrangea’s eyes, bit by bit as Rita sends the money to six separate accounts to keep it from being traced. 

“And…” says Rita over the comms, drawing out the ‘n’. “That’s the last of it!”

The number on the screen hits zero. Hydrangea makes a noise like his hair is being pulled, high and whiny. It’s glorious. Juno revels in that noise for just a second. 

“Kill them,” spits Hydrangea. 

Juno stops revelling and knocks away the gun pointed at his head, then pulls up his dress and takes a second blaster from one of his thigh holsters. The lackey lunges for her gun and grabs it – she’s quick – but Juno is quicker. One stun to the chest, and she’s down. He spares a look at her on the way to help Nureyev, just to make sure she’s still breathing. 

“Juno? Pete? What’s going on?” asks Buddy, voice urgent.

“Debrief later,” says Juno. “Little busy here.” 

By the time Juno reaches Nureyev, one of the lackeys is already dead, throat slit. Still, even if Nureyev is good, he’s not _that_ good. Nobody is. Nobody Juno wants to spend any amount of time around, anyway. The other four still-standing lackeys are advancing on him, backing him into the wall. 

Juno hits one of them in the back with a stun, and they stumble forward a few steps, then crash into one of their colleagues as they fall. It buys Juno a second – just a second – to get to Nureyev’s side. “Can you run?” he asks.

“Not so fast,” says one of the lackeys, holding Juno’s head up with his blaster. 

Juno holds his own blaster up, charging up another stun. The lackey figures it out. Juno’s blaster skids across the floor, shooting a stun at the wall instead of at a person. His heart jumps in his throat. He doesn’t have time to take out his last gun, not when he can feel Nureyev trembling at his back. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Juno sees Hydrangea move towards the door like he’s satisfied they’re going to die, and he can’t be bothered to watch. It’s sickening. The guy’s got them cornered like Hyperion rabbits corner a guy with a hundred-cred bill, and he doesn’t even have the good grace to stay and watch his own show. When he gets to the door, he stops, and Juno rolls his eye. He’ll have one more word, one little quip about his assets or how it’s good to see them dead. 

He never turns to say it. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all. His feet hover six inches above the ground, and then – at about the same time as one of the lackeys presses Nureyev against one of the surveillance screens hard enough that it cracks – Hydrangea hits the ground, unconscious. 

There’s no time to take a look at their saviour. One lackey twists Juno’s arms behind his back so he can’t fight back, and the third one advances further on Nureyev, gun at the ready. 

There’s the sound of gunfire, and a body hitting the floor. Juno feels sick, can’t bring himself to turn his head to look at Nureyev as he twists out of the lackey’s grip and headbutts the guy’s face. Another body hits the floor. 

Bracing himself for the worst, Juno turns. Nureyev is still standing and – where the lackeys had been standing just a second ago – there is Jet Siquliak, picking up Nureyev’s jacket from the back of the seat and brushing it down. 

“Jet,” says Juno. “That’s… wow.” 

“There is no time. We must leave. Can you both walk?” 

Juno’s eye darts to Nureyev. He looks spent. Pale and drained, but still shaky, like he might break apart at the seams again at any second. Heat from the fire combined with enough stress to kill an uncle at Thanksgiving have made him sweat off a good few layers of makeup. Underneath, Nureyev’s eyes are bagged heavily with purple and grey, visible even under the black caked around his eyes from where his mascara and eyeliner have run. His cheeks look gaunter than usual, hollowed out slightly with stress or sickness or Juno has no goddamn idea what to think, after what Hydrangea said.

Or – no – he has one thought, but it isn’t about Nureyev. He stares around at the bodies in the vault – both unconscious and dead – and thinks that the only party worse than this was Mick Mercury’s 14th birthday. 

“I can walk,” says Juno. “I don’t know about Ransom.”

Hearing his alias, Ransom’s eyes flick between Juno and Jet. “I can walk, I think,” he manages.

“Good,” says Buddy through the comms. “Let’s get you both home, darlings. I think we’ve some things to discuss.”

*

Somehow – Juno thinks they probably owe it to Jet – they get out of the venue and into the garage without any of Hydrangea’s security picking up their tail. The fact that Nureyev looks so goddamn wrecked probably helps sell the story about Monsieur de Marcillac being taken ill. Juno thinks wryly that it isn’t even a lie. Nureyev _is_ ill, might have been ill for months, now, and he’d been hiding it so goddamn well Juno didn’t even notice until he fell apart on the job.

Jet helps them both into the RUBY 7, then slides into the driver’s seat and starts pressing buttons. A compartment in the ceiling opens up, and oxygen masks drop down. Normal for commercial spaceships, but not the kind of thing Juno’s ever seen built into a car before.

“The hell is this?” he asks.

“Vespa has asked me to start treating you both for smoke inhalation,” says Jet. “The RUBY 7 has the means to do this.” 

“What kind of a car has built in…?” He doesn’t finish the question before he’s coughing again. 

“The RUBY 7,” answers Jet. “Now, oxygen.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” says Juno and pulls his mask down towards him. He takes a look at Nureyev. He gets the mask down, then fumbles with it, hands still shaking too hard for him to navigate the strap. For half a second, Juno considers abandoning his own mask, but thinks better of it. He’s spent an entire year learning to get his own mask on before he tries to help anyone else, and now he gets to do it literally. Buddy will be so proud of him. 

Mask safely over his face, Juno turns his attention to Nureyev. “Let me help?” he asks softly.

Nureyev looks at him, then holds the mask out to Juno and closes his eyes. Juno pulls the mask over Nureyev’s mouth and nose as gently as he can. 

“There,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Jet starts up the RUBY 7. Clean oxygen hisses through the mask, and Juno lets himself relax into it as Jet flies the car out of the garage. He barely notices his head lolling until Jet speaks.

“Please do not fall unconscious. I will be in trouble with Vespa if you do.”

Juno forces his head up. “Sorry,” he says, voice muffled by the mask.

“I cannot hear what you are saying through the mask,” says Jet. “However, I presume you said sorry. If that is the case, you are forgiven.” 

Juno nearly says something back, then remembers it would be pointless and gives Jet a thumbs up through the rear-view mirror instead. 

“Indeed,” replies Jet. His eyes linger on the mirror for moment longer, and a crease appears in his brow. His eyes flick to Juno’s right – a signal.

Juno looks to his right, towards Nureyev, and the source of Jet’s frown becomes clear. Nureyev is staring out of the window, crying again. He’s not sobbing – not making anything of it at all. He closes his eyes, tears seeping out from underneath his eyelids like he’s forgotten how to stem them or is just too tired to try. He sniffs and looks at Juno, like he can tell that Juno’s watching him.

He _can_ tell Juno’s watching him, Juno realises. He isn’t staring _out_ of the window, watching Venus fly by beneath them and lost in whatever sad thought he’s thinking. He’s staring _at_ the window, at Juno’s reflection in it, and something about Juno’s reflection is breaking him all over again.

Juno takes a deep breath and remembers he isn’t supposed to when his chest aches with the strain of it and he coughs. Once he’s dislodged another six ounces of soot and carbon from his lungs, he offers a hand to Nureyev. Nureyev stares at it, then takes it tentatively, barely closing his fingers around it. Juno guides their hands to rest on the seat in the middle of them, his own on top. He thumbs over Nureyev’s wrist, noting his fluttering, fast pulse. They just need to get home. 

*

By the time they arrive back at the Carte Blanche, Nureyev has stopped crying. Small mercies. Buddy is waiting for them at the garage door. “Jet, darling, why don’t you go and take a shower?” she suggests, dismissing him implicitly. Jet nods briskly and leaves, sparing a second glance at Juno and Nureyev on his way out. “Now,” she says. “Vespa would like to see both of you in the infirmary, and then I’d like to see you in my office.” Her eye flicks between Juno and Nureyev, and she gestures for them to follow her down the hallway.

She stops just outside the infirmary, appraising them with a sort of quiet seriousness. “We are going to have the first of many serious conversations after this, but I cannot let you go without first telling you that you are not in trouble.” She pauses, eye on Nureyev. “Do you understand that, darling?”

Nureyev clears his throat. “Yes, Captain,” he says, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

Buddy’s eye lingers on him a moment longer before she nods and steps aside to let them into the infirmary, where Vespa is waiting.

Vespa works quietly, asking questions when she thinks they’re necessary and snapping at answers when she thinks they’re not. It’s nearly four in the morning by the time she deems them fit to leave. “Bud wants to see you in her office,” she says. 

Juno doesn’t move, largely because it’s four in the morning.

“Are you stupid? I said Bud wants to see you in her office,” Vespa looks irritated, but not angry. 

“Now?” asks Juno. “It’s like, four in the morning.”

“Yeah,” says Vespa slowly. “I told her that. She said it’s urgent, and what she says goes.” 

Juno sighs and slings his legs over the side of the bed, fending off a spell of light-headedness. Across the room, Nureyev does the same, slipping his arms through the sleeve of the dirty tailcoat Jet had wordlessly draped over him about an hour ago. He hasn’t cried again. Hasn’t done much of anything at all, actually, except stare at the ceiling or stare at Vespa and answer questions. He still looks fragile, like a misstep could tear him to shreds. Juno thinks, sickly, that Nureyev is probably waiting for one of those missteps to give him another excuse to put himself through the wringer.

They follow Vespa to Buddy’s office quietly.

Vespa knocks out a rhythm on the door. “Bud?” she stage-whispers. “We’re here. Can we come in?”

“Of course, darling!” calls Buddy from the other side. She’s sitting behind her desk with a glass of red wine and a fixed, determined expression on her face. “Why don’t the two of you sit down?” asks Buddy. She looks up at Vespa. “Dearest, would you like to go to bed?”

Vespa’s eyes, bright even this late at night, dart over Buddy’s face like she’s trying to work something out. “I’ll stay,” she says, then clears her throat. “Never sleep well in an empty bed.” She leans against one of the filing cabinets in the corner of Buddy’s office, watching them.

The ghost of a smile glances upon Buddy’s face as she watches Vespa settle, like she’d been hoping Vespa would stay the whole time. Then she looks between Juno and Nureyev, and the smile falls. The expression it leaves behind is soft and sad. There’s a long moment of silence before anyone speaks. Buddy takes a protracted sip of wine. 

“Uh, is there a reason we couldn’t do this tomorrow?” asks Juno, because he’s tired, and Buddy’s tired, and Vespa’s tired, and Nureyev’s… probably more tired than all of them put together.

“I felt it best to debrief as soon as possible,” says Buddy, her eye flicking to Nureyev. “First of all, I’d like to congratulate you both on a job well done. Hydrangea’s assets are safely locked away in several bank accounts throughout the galaxy. They cannot be traced to us, nor can they find their way back to him.”

Juno relaxes, just a little. “You congratulate Rita as well?”

“Of course, darling. She and I are going to go for ice cream tomorrow afternoon.” The corners of her mouth quirk up as she takes another sip of red. “I’d invite the two of you, but, well… I’m sure you understand.”

“Rita did most of it, yeah,” says Juno. “Glad she’s getting recognised for that. She… deserves it.”

“I quite agree, Juno,” says Buddy. She leans back in her chair, goes to take another gulp of wine, and realises her glass is empty. Sighing almost inaudibly, she ducks into one of her desk drawers and pulls out another bottle. “You haven’t a corkscrew, have you?”

“Who the hell carries around a corkscrew?” asks Juno, crossing his arms. He’s not planning on sitting here and watching Buddy drink wine when he and Nureyev could be tucked up in bed. 

Nureyev rummages through his inside pocket until he produces a penknife – the expensive Saturnian kind. He holds it out to Buddy, his hands still shaking. “Corkscrew is - .” His voice catches. He closes his eyes like he’s ashamed, then tries again. “Corkscrew is the 6th on the right side, between the magnifying glass and the miniature blowtorch.” 

Buddy takes it from him with a smile. “Thank you very much, darling.” She flicks out the 6th tool on the right side, and a Mercurial thermometers – one of the small, sleek cobalt ones which only takes a second to tell if you’re running a fever – pops out. Buddy pauses. “I— Pete, darling -,”

“Apologies,” interrupts Nureyev. “That’s – that’s _my_ right. I should have thought to… well, no matter.” His jaw is tensing like he thinks it matters quite a lot. That makes Juno anxious, the fact that Nureyev is so caught up on something like not flipping his right and left for Buddy.

“Ah,” says Buddy. “Thank you, Pete.” She flicks out the corkscrew and opens her bottle, then turns to Vespa. “I take it Juno can’t drink for the time being?”

Vespa shakes her head. “Not for the next week.” She snorts. “See if he sticks to it this time.”

Juno stares at her sullenly but doesn’t say anything. He can go a whole week without drinking anytime he wants. He just doesn’t want. That’s all there is to it. 

Buddy fills her glass halfway, then swills it around for a moment, staring into the wine like just looking at it might help her think of the best words for this particular moment. “I’m sure you both know the real reason I wanted to see you before you’d had a chance to shower and change and reapply your makeup and get some sleep and distance yourselves from the events of tonight’s heist, so I’ll stop beating around the bush.” She sets her wine on the desk without taking a sip. “What happened in there?”

“I apologise,” says Nureyev quickly. “I pressed the wrong button. I should have double checked with Rita before I pressed it. If I had, I daresay things would have gone a great deal more smoothly.”

“I don’t mean that, darling,” says Buddy. “Heists go wrong, from time to time – I’m sure you know that – and I think this one was rigged from step one.” She looks Nureyev over silently. “We will talk about the specific mistakes you made – that both of you made – but they are not my primary concern. We know about them, thus we can deal with them. I’m more worried about what I don’t know.” 

Nureyev’s chest draws in. “Please, Captain. I will make up for my mistakes tonight. I _will_ do better.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, Pete,” says Buddy quietly. She picks up her glass but doesn’t drink, her thumbnail running up and down the stem. “Would you like me to tell you what I’ve already surmised?”

Something like a smile, small and strained, flits around the corners of Nureyev’s lips. “I daresay you’ll tell me anyway,” he says. 

“Excellent deduction,” says Buddy. “I’ll just go right ahead, then.” She whets her vocal cords with a long sip of wine before she starts. “After you and Juno engaged Hydrangea so that you might steal the key to the vault, he began to show signs of having been tipped off and attempted to poison Juno.”

“I figured that out, by the way,” says Juno, suddenly feeling the urge to defend himself. “I only drank the champagne to keep up our cover.”

“Yes, darling, you were very clever,” says Buddy dismissively, like she’s talking down a kindergartener. “Then, once you got into the vault, you pressed the wrong button and began to panic, so Juno had to take over from you.” She’s silent for a long moment. “They say the rest is history, and I believe both of you were there for all of it, so I’ll move onto my inferences. You’re in rather a lot of debt with a medical centre on Brahma, which Hydrangea would have bought and controlled in such a way that you would be bound to him for a certain time period, and then you would be in a position of… well, further debt. He also knew that you were Brahman and that you’re a prolific thief – one of which _I_ didn’t know, which suggests he has a large amount of information on you.” She takes another sip of wine. “Anything I’ve missed, detective?”

Juno shakes his head, eye trained on Nureyev. “That about covers it.” He sighs sadly. “God, Ransom, what _happened_? I knew you were in debt, but… to a medical centre?”

Nureyev is silent for a long, long moment. “I suppose I owe you some kind of explanation,” he says, then takes his glasses off to clean them. “I am… in debt. Considerable debt. If it were only my medical costs, I’d have paid them off some time ago, but…”

Buddy holds up a hand. “You’re under no obligation to answer this, Pete, but might I ask about the nature of your medical costs?” 

Nureyev exhales shakily. “Around – oh – two years ago, now, I fell… ill. I had faced some… upheaval on Mars and by the time I returned to Brahma on business, it was clear that was taking its toll.”

Juno swallows. “That…” He works his tongue around his mouth. “That upheaval – was that…?”

“Yes,” says Nureyev. “It was.” He clears his throat. “The medical centre in question hadn’t quite seen anything like it – not surprising, really. They eventually concluded that I was suffering from some kind of –,” he pauses and takes a breath. “Degenerative neurological disorder. Slow, but nonetheless… well, I won’t say it again. From prolonged electronic overstimulation of the central nervous system. They prescribed medication and gave me the bill. I couldn’t pay it.” He smiles wryly. “I was planning on simply taking the first box they gave me and… stretching it out. Stealing more when things got bad.”

Vespa scowls at him, and Juno shares the sentiment. It’s the kind of astronomically stupid thing that _he_ would do if he didn’t have Rita there to kick his ass for trying it. Nureyev hadn’t had Rita, back then. Hadn’t had anybody, probably. He’d fallen asleep in that hotel room expecting Juno and a first class tour of all the planets, then woken up to an empty bed and the aftermath of a week of torture. 

Buddy frowns. “What about all that money you had saved from previous jobs, darling?”

“I couldn’t pay _legally_ ,” clarifies Nureyev. “Brahma is… well, I’m sure you’ve heard about things there. The Guardian Angel System might have fallen, but corrupt officials still remain. If the Brahman government got the slightest sense that a medical centre in the slums had been taking dirty money, they’d shut it down in a heartbeat.” His lips curl around his teeth. “You’ll have to forgive me, Captain, but that particular part of Brahma holds… significance for me.” 

“Nothing to forgive,” says Buddy. “We all have places to which we’re attached, Pete.”

“Yes, well,” says Nureyev. “Regardless, I visited a solicitor and a banker. I could not risk using an alias. The individuals in question have a little more – let’s call it financial pull – over the authorities in Brahma. They’ll take so-called dirty money without facing the consequences.” He sighs. “I was expecting to take out a small loan, pay off the medical centre, then to pay the individuals in question from my savings.” He swallows and puts his glasses back on his nose. “It appears that this was not the first time they’d heard of Peter not-Ransom.” 

Juno reaches his hand out to Nureyev. “Hey,” he says. “We don’t have to do this now. We can go to bed, talk more in the morning. You’re obviously tired.” 

Nureyev looks at him, eyes bright and heavily bagged. “Best to finish now that I’ve started, dear,” he says, but takes Juno’s hand and squeezes. “I was one half of a criminal duo for a little over five years,” he says. “Until my mentor… passed away when I was 17.” Mag, then. “It seems that he started taking out loans when he met me – many of them to care for me, I think.” His Adam’s apple bobs guiltily, and Juno feels – not for the first time – the urge to punch Mag Ransom in the face. “Well, he didn’t pay any of them before he died – but he left my name with them – my real name.” His face is almost serene for a moment. “Of course, that name hasn’t been traceable for the past two decades.” He fiddles with a button on his coat. “Compound interest is rather a dreadful thing, and I’m afraid I’m accruing it from two separate sources.” 

Buddy sighs, appraising Nureyev with eyes which are kind and practical in equal turn. “Thank you for telling me, Pete,” she says. “I do appreciate that.” She glances back at Vespa and opens her mouth, then seems to think better of it. “You had a panic attack in the vault,” she says. “Was that because of Hydrangea?”

Nureyev is quiet for a moment – a pretty long moment, actually. “I’ve been feeling on edge for some time,” he says. “I’ve never felt more aware of my age than I have in the last two years. My mistake in the vault, and my mistake with the schematics when we took the Curemother Prime – they remind me constantly that I am working to a clock. Soon – within the next five years, I think – my continued participation in these jobs will not be practical.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Every mistake like that I make, I… remember that I cannot keep running forever. Debt alone, I could handle. Even I never had the money to pay it off, I could keep running cons, travel from planet to planet and disappear whenever I needed to do so.” He closes his eyes. “The entire premise I’ve based my career around is slipping through my fingers – fingers I cannot move quickly enough to capture it. I felt the pressure of that loss very acutely in the vault.” 

Juno sits for a second, taking all that in. “Wait, wait, hold on a second,” he says. “You say that like – like your mistakes were _all_ because of what Mi – because of that ‘upheaval’ on Mars, like you’re definitely losing it, but that’s not true!”

Nureyev looks at him, a resigned expression on his face. “Juno,” he says. “I know that this is hard for you. I should have told you a great deal sooner, and I apologise. Even so, this is the reality that I am facing now. Do not make it more difficult for me.”

“No,” says Juno. “That’s just the thing – it’s _not_ like that. See, I know because I’ve slept alone the past five nights – you don’t sleep before a job, you _barely_ eat. Hell, last time I kept _your_ habits I ended up stuck in the middle of the desert with an eye that was trying to take over my brain and a case of radiation sickness that nearly made me puke on Jet’s hovercycle.” He sits back in his chair and looks between the other three people in the room. “I mean, I’m not saying that you being sick isn’t something we don’t have to deal with, I’m just saying that maybe you should try… I don’t know, not actively destroying yourself before you decide you’re too broken to be worth anything.”

Nureyev takes a deep breath. “I am not… _trying_ to destroy myself, Juno.” He turns to Buddy. “Captain Aurinko,” he says. “I understand that this is… well, rather a lot. If you plan to terminate my position in this crew, I ask only that you grant me a week to get my affairs in order.”

Buddy’s eyes widen slightly. “Terminate your position? Darling, I’ve many flaws, but I like to think that deliberate cruelty is not among them.” She sits up straighter. “You are not the only person on this ship with a medical condition, Pete, and you’re certainly not the only person on this ship who’s ever had a panic attack in the middle of a job. My concern is not with your work, darling – there is plenty to suggest that you may have many more lucrative years in crime, even if, God forbid, you grow old. My concern is with _you_.”

“With me?” stammers Nureyev. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Buddy’s expression grows gentle and sad, and Juno suspects that his own expression mirrors hers, perhaps with a little protective fury thrown in for good measure. “There’s the problem, isn’t it, darling?” She gives him a smile which Juno recognises as the one she gives Jet when his fingers begin to shake. “I’m going to let you both go in a moment, darlings, but I want to reassure you that you are valuable to me. As thieves, yes, but as people too.” She leans forward, catching Nureyev’s eye and then going just a little further, searching. “Don’t forget that you’re a person first, Pete.”

Nureyev stares at her, opening and closing his mouth. “Yes, Captain.” 

Buddy turns to Vespa and nods, and Vespa takes her cue to speak. “Come to the medbay tomorrow, th – _Ransom_.” She rubs her temples. “I’ll examine you properly, and we’ll talk about treatment.”

“Oh,” says Nureyev. “I can tell you the name and dosage of my prescribed medication – I still have the box, so…”

“Not for that,” says Vespa, “but bring the box with you anyway.”

“Right,” says Nureyev. “Right, yes. I’ll, um… Yes.” Juno reaches out and takes his hand, brushing a finger over his knuckles. 

Buddy sits back in her chair. “Well,” she says with finality. “Now that we’ve settled that, I think it’s about time we all got some sleep, don’t you think?” She stands, draining the last of her glass. “Off with you, now.”

“Yeah,” says Juno, standing slowly against the sluggish cracking of his knees. “Thanks, Buddy. And Vespa.” He moves in closer to Nureyev and grips his bicep. “Just… thanks.”

The hallways are dark and empty when they leave Buddy’s office, but Buddy and Vespa follow them out a few moments later and peal off in the opposite direction – towards their bedroom, if Juno had to guess. “Whose room?” he asks.

Nureyev swallows. “Yours, I think. Mine is… well, I don’t think I have it in me to make it accommodating for you tonight.”

“Okay,” says Juno. “Mine it is.” 

His door is unlocked, and his room is just as he’d left it this morning. He crosses to the bed and sits down gratefully, glad to take some of the weight off his feet. Nureyev lingers near the mirror, hands trembling more with every extra second he spends on his reflection. Juno looks upon him sadly, then pushes to his feet. “Come on,” he says gently, circling around to Nureyev. 

“There’s just…” Nureyev’s breath hitches. “There’s so _much_.”

Juno understands. _So much_ means his debts, of course, and his health and all the things he’s just laid bare – but in this moment, _so much_ means his makeup and his clothes and everything else he has left to do. “I know,” says Juno because it’s what Rita always says to him. “Let me help?”

Nureyev’s shoulders stiffen like he wants to object, but then he catches sight of Juno’s face in the mirror and stops. “Alright,” he agrees. 

Juno silently leads him over to the bed – Nureyev’s side, the side which has been perfectly made up for the past five days – and sits him down, then kneels in front of him. There’s a lot to help with – heels with as many buckles and straps as Jet’s hiking backpack, cufflinks, bracelets, rings… Juno thinks it would make him balk on a good day. It takes a good five minutes to get through all the little stuff and gather it on his bedside table. 

He slides Nureyev’s tailcoat off his shoulders and folds it over one arm. “Can I put this in the laundry chute?” he asks. 

Nureyev looks up at him, then looks up at the tailcoat. “Dry clean only,” he says hoarsely.

“Right,” says Juno, and drops the tailcoat over the back of a chair he’s only ever used for laundry. He kneels on the bed behind Nureyev and examines his corset. It’s pulled tightly around his waist with lace. Juno has unlaced his fair share of corsets, but this looks more complicated than some of those, tied in more than one place. He pulls loose the highest bow, and the criss-cross of lace travelling up Nureyev’s spine relaxes.

“Apologies, Juno,” says Nureyev. “I’m sure this wasn’t what you had in mind when you offered to help me out of this corset earlier.”

Juno smiles, looking up so Nureyev can see it in the mirror. “It wasn’t,” he agrees, “but that’s not important. I don’t need every second I’m with you to get my heartrate up.” He brings his chin down to rest on Nureyev’s shoulder and brushes his lips against his ear. “Being with you is... it’s enough.” 

Nureyev’s breath hitches but he doesn’t respond, only closes his eyes, and lets Juno’s lips linger on his skin for a moment longer. Juno pulls away from the touch when Nureyev’s eyes open, and he works his way down the corset until, finally, it comes undone and he can put it to one side. He unfolds himself, feeling stiffness from the day behind him accruing in his joints, and sits side-by-side with Nureyev. 

He unbuttons Nureyev’s shirt slowly, keeping his guard up for needles and small weapons he might conceal in a buttonhole. In the end, he only finds one pin, sharp as one of Nureyev’s canines, in the buttonhole across his navel. He sets it to one side with the trinkets. It’s a second flash of silver which gives him pause upon removing Nureyev’s shirt.

He stares at it, blinking. 

“Love?” asks Nureyev, something like worry or – if Juno listens closely to what he doesn’t want to hear – fear colouring his tone. He glances down. “I – I could get something more conventional – in nude, perhaps,” he says.

“What?” responds Juno, confused for a moment until he realises Nureyev thinks he’s talking about the binder itself – intricately embroidered to nearly match the corset, with bows and lace and a big middle finger at anyone who ever tried to make him feel like the only two choices are playing the part they want him to play or being ashamed of himself. Juno tries not to feel hurt by the idea that Nureyev still thinks he might be one of those people. “No, I’m – is that a scalpel?”

Nureyev’s shoulders ease a little. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell Vespa I’d stolen from her,” he says.

“Yeah, sure,” says Juno, frowning. “Just… be careful not to stab yourself in the heart, alright? You’ve got the damn thing pinned to your sternum under there.” 

Something close to a real smile flickers across Nureyev’s face, tempered by his stress and sadness, but a still like a smile. “Your concern is appreciated, dear,” he says.

“Right,” says Juno, choosing to drop the issue. He stands and pulls a spare pair of pyjamas out of Nureyev’s drawer in his closet and drops them on the bed next to him. “Are you good to do the rest yourself? I’m gonna grab some stuff from the bathroom.” It’s not a lie – he does need the bathroom – but he also thinks Nureyev needs a minute without Juno there to watch him change out of the rest of his things and hide his knives in other – hopefully safer – places. 

“Yes, of course,” says Nureyev absently.

Juno lingers by the door for a moment, then steps out into the hallway and pads down to the bathroom. The door is locked when he arrives, so he lingers. He doesn’t have to wait long. Buddy appears after a minute or two, dressed in a silk bathrobe and out of her makeup. She looks him over.

“Bathroom’s free for whatever you need, darling,” she whispers. There’s a sympathy to her tone, coupled with just a tinge of heaviness, that tells Juno she’s not talking about using the toilet. She gives him a quick pat on the arm, then turns and walks silently back to her and Vespa’s room. Juno nudges into the bathroom and thinks on her words as he removes his eyepatch and his makeup, uses the toilet, then gathers up his toothbrush, Nureyev’s toothbrush, and a bottle of makeup remover. 

Then, suitably armed, he closes the toilet lid, sits down heavily, and bursts into tears. He feels guilty for a second, then remembers Buddy’s gentle expression. She had figured this might happen, and he doesn’t know if that makes him predictable or if it just makes this the sort of thing people cry about. He thinks he remembers Rita crying when things were bad for him, knows Mick had cried a lot when Juno was busy destroying himself over Benzaiten. 

He thinks all of that, but mostly, he thinks about Nureyev. Juno knows this didn’t all start with Miasma, that Nureyev’s probably been fostering an anxious streak for most of his life in the same way that Juno was cranky and self-destructive long before Sarah Steel ever put a hole through Benten’s head, and something about that is worse than if Miasma had flipped a switch in Nureyev’s head back beneath Mars. 

And then Juno is only thinking about Nureyev, about their first meeting. Even then, Juno thinks, he must have been cracking. Nobody who’s spent their whole life able to guarantee their next meal puts a whole sandwich in their pocket. He’s been terrified for years and Juno has barely scratched the surface of what scares him so much. This time around, he isn’t scared to find out. 

He wants to know – he wants to know every part of it that Nureyev wants to show him. He wants to know why Nureyev’s first instinct was to go back to a place where he’s a wanted criminal. He wants to know about the things that have kept Nureyev running for all this time – about the highest highs and the lowest lows. He wants to know all of it, but more than anything else, he wants to know what he can do to make this easier.

And, well, he’s not gonna get those answers by locking himself in the bathroom and crying, so he gives himself another two minutes to sob out the last of his adrenaline before calling an end to it all. He wipes his eye, blows his nose, and washes his face, then takes a minute to look at himself in the mirror. His eye is puffy – probably too puffy to hide that he’s been crying – but he can’t bring himself to chastise the little part of him that feels lighter for having a good cry. Maybe that’s what growth for the better feels like. 

He sniffs, puffs his cheeks out, and picks up what he came for. 

Vespa is waiting outside, looking every bit as threatening in a pair of plaid flannel pyjamas as she does in full combat gear. Juno startles at the sight of her because it must be five in the morning and she has a look like she just wants to use the bathroom and go back to bed. He wonders if she’d knocked and he’d just been so lost thinking that he missed it. 

“Sorry,” says Juno, clearing his throat against some lingering phlegm left behind from crying. 

“Whatever,” says Vespa gruffly, lowering her voice. “You done crying?”

“I wasn’t crying,” says Juno automatically, then bites back his protest. “Yeah,” he amends. “Think I’m all cried out.”

“Good,” says Vespa. “It’s good you… I don’t know, took a minute.” She sighs like she always does when she’s about to say something personal. “Listen, whatever Ransom’s going through… you’re a part of it now. That means you’re gonna feel some of it, which is stupid, but it’s what happens.” She pauses and makes an irritated noise. “Just… don’t try to pretend you’re fine with everything.”

“Right,” says Juno slowly. “That was… a pretty good pep talk. Thanks.”

Vespa scoffs, eyes flashing. “Oh, whatever!” she snarls. “Get out of the way before I decide I can’t hold it anymore.”

Juno pads down the hall, mulling over Vespa’s words. Not the part about holding it, obviously, but about being a part of whatever Ransom’s dealing with. It’s a lot to think about. His mind flicks to Rita and to Mick, even to Sasha, and he wonders if more people might have stuck around if he’d let them be a part of his mess. He wonders if Nureyev will let him, even, or if he’ll wake up in the morning to an empty bed and a missing boyfriend. 

Nureyev is still sitting on the edge of the bed when Juno enters the bedroom, but he’s wearing the pyjamas. 

“Hey,” says Juno softly. “I, uh, got some stuff from the bathroom.” He sets the makeup remover and toothpaste next to Nureyev. “I’m – gonna change.”

Nureyev nods and picks up his toothbrush, then stops and stares at it like he doesn’t know what to do next. Juno shuffles out of his dress, then sits on the edge of the bed in his tights and slip and takes up his own toothbrush. Nureyev starts brushing when he does, rinses and spits into an empty cup Juno had brought with him, and then starts fiddling with the bottle of makeup remover.

It’s a start, at least, Juno thinks, turning his back to Nureyev. “Mind unzipping me?”

One of Nureyev’s cold hands rests on Juno’s shoulder, and the other – still shaking, even now – works down Juno’s back until the slip is loose enough for Juno to wiggle out of. “There,” he says. 

“Thanks.” Juno changes into his pyjamas in silence, then pulls back the bedcovers. Nureyev sets the makeup remover to one side and draws his legs up until he can slide his feet under the blanket and lie beneath it, staring stiffly up at the ceiling. 

Juno wiggles down the mattress and throws his bedcovers over him, then rolls onto his side and looks at Nureyev. His makeup is still caked to his skin, tear tracks carving through it, bleeding his eyeliner into faint grey-black lines across his cheeks, filling his eyebags with silvery shadow. “Oh, hey, you’re still wearing your makeup,” says Juno, propping himself up on his elbow and reaching over to the bottle of makeup remover. He tips a little out onto a cotton pad and holds it to Nureyev’s temple.

Nureyev rolls away from him. Juno falters a little. 

“Nureyev?” he asks. “I’m just… trying to help.”

“I know,” says Nureyev harshly. “I just… I think I’d like to keep it on, for tonight. Please. I know it’s already ruined, but I…” He swallows. “Well, I’d rather not see myself without it at the moment.”

Juno takes a deep breath and reminds himself again that this isn’t all about him. Makes a note to ask next time. “Sure,” he says. “Yeah, that’s… that’s fine. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” says Nureyev shakily. 

Juno sets the bottle of makeup remover on his bedside table, then sits propped up on his elbow for a while longer, watching Nureyev’s face gently. Eventually, the faint sound of Jet’s alarm clock fades through the wall, and Juno realises neither he nor Nureyev has even attempted to sleep yet. “Sounds like the Big Guy’s getting up,” he says. “Is it okay if I turn out the lights?”

“Please do,” answers Nureyev in a small voice, so Juno reaches for the remote control panel above his bed and dims them all the way down, then turns up the blackout setting on the windows. 

He drops onto his side, facing Nureyev’s back. It’s usually the other way around. “Can I touch you?” he whispers. 

Nureyev’s breath stills for a moment, and then – very gently – he exhales. “Yes,” he says. “Thank you for asking.”

Juno eases closer, wrapping one arm around Nureyev’s waist and bringing his other hand up to thumb small circles on temple. Under the touch, Nureyev’s veneer of togetherness melts away again, and Juno hears the soft sighing sobs and feels the light tremor in his back. Two rooms down the hall, Juno hears Jet changing into his gym clothes. It’s comforting. A reminder that everything isn’t changing just because he knows things are bad for Nureyev, maybe. 

“We’ll figure this out,” murmurs Juno, still rubbing circles into Nureyev’s skin. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Nureyev rolls over to face Juno, then buries his head in his shoulder. His fingers cling to Juno’s nightshirt, acrylic nails digging into Juno’s back. He’s letting himself break, Juno realises. Not breaking in spite of himself like all the other times he’s broken today but choosing to fall to pieces because he _needs_ to fall to pieces. And he’s chosen to share it with Juno. That’s – Juno doesn’t know if it’s messed up for him to feel proud that Nureyev trusts him enough to share this with him, if he should nix the relief that washes over him as Nureyev burrows further into his shoulder and shakes with sobs. 

He doesn’t know and – for once – he doesn’t waste his time ruminating on it. He doesn’t let that uncertainty pull him away from Nureyev like it did two years ago, the last time he saw Nureyev falling apart over him. Instead, he circles his arm more tightly around Nureyev’s back and lets his other hand reach up to cradle the back of his head. His lips brush past Nureyev’s ear, and he whispers. Doesn’t even know what he whispers, really, but he whispers, and Nureyev shakes apart just as much as he needs to in Juno’s arms until – finally – somewhere between the sound of Jet trudging up the stairs from the Carte Blanche’s gym and the sound of Jet turning on the shower – his breathing slows and steadies. The acrylic claw in Juno’s back slackens. The wet patch on Juno’s shoulder begins to dry.

Then, a tiny snore.

And Juno knows, with Nureyev asleep in his arms for the first time in days, that everything is going to be okay. He doesn’t know when it’ll be okay or what okay will look like, only that it won’t look the same as what he thought okay looked like yesterday. And… Juno can deal with that.

In a few hours, he’ll wake up and Nureyev will still be in his arms. Then, Nureyev will reapply his makeup and Juno will coax him into eating breakfast, and there’ll be appointments with Vespa, and prescriptions, and millions of creds of debt. None of it will feel as terrible as it did three hours ago.

Now, with Nureyev in his arms, Juno sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Some housekeeping in this endnote:  
> -You do not live with Vespa Ilkay. If you experience smoke inhalation, go to hospital.  
> -Do not conceal a scalpel under your binder. Peter Nureyev should not be doing it either.  
> -The title comes from "Nearest Exit" by the incredible Brenna Twohy. Absolutely worth a listen, if you're in a reasonable headspace to do so.


End file.
